


of the rising and the falling

by wombuttress



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Epistolary, F/F, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 22:13:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8640157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wombuttress/pseuds/wombuttress
Summary: "Queen Mara Cousland was, perhaps, one of the most famous monarchs in all of Ferelden's history. Everything about her, from her rise to power to her brief reign, is shrouded in legend and shadowy rumor. Here, we will delve into the details of a life lived so largely..."Queen Cousland's bloody rise to power - those left in her wake - one who loved her. In codices.





	

\--

              Queen Mara Cousland! One of the most famous monarchs in all of Ferelden history, perhaps more famous even than good king Maric Theirin—certainly, second only in the mythical imagination of Ferelden to the legendary Calenhad himself. The queen who defeated darkspawn, negotiated with great rulers, dealt with werewolves and demons and ghouls, Mara has the distinction of being one of the most universally beloved rulers of all time. She remains a pillar of Ferelden identity to this day.

              But how much about her do we _really_ know? Her ascent to power was surrounded with shadowy rumors of treachery and blood, with secret love affairs, assassination contracts and whispers in the dark. In my book, I will explore the shocking, real facts of the Silverite Queen’s dramatic life, in convenient listicle format.

              Now, let us transport ourselves back to the dark, barbaric days of the early Dragon Age…

 _-Excerpt from Henga O’Malley’s pop-history book,_ By Blood and Steel: The Shocking Real Facts of Ferelden’s Most Famous Queen, _published 13:21 Silver_

\--

              Divine Faustine II declared the Age following Blessed to be the Dragon Age, predicting a time of great turbulence and change, and so it was during the rise and reign of Queen Mara Cousland. Most telling, perhaps, that even to this day she is known as a Cousland rather than a Theirin, from where she drew her royal right to the throne. Perhaps it is because with her the ancient line of Cousland ended. But more truly, the actions and legacy of Queen Mara were so far-reaching and and Age-defining, that she could not have possibly been known by any name but her own […]

              [...] The future queen’s youth is well documented, but considered by many historians to be largely uninteresting. By most reputable accounts, young Mara was a model noblewoman. As a second child, she was not noted to be particularly ambitious or outspoken, though nothing would prove further from the truth in her later life. Whether or not she had always had grand designs, or had merely grown into her role following the death of her oft-forgotten older brother Fergus at the Rout of Ostagar early in 9:30, is a popular subject for historians’ friendly dinner party debates, as with any particularly sensational figure from the past […]

               […] It is worth addressing one of the most common conspiracy theories popular amongst amateur history buffs. Namely, the notion that Mara had, in her youth, conducted an affair with her predecessor, Queen Anora Mac Tir. I take the time to mention this only to reiterate, quite plainly, that this notion has no basis in historical fact, and is viewed with scorn throughout practically any respectable sector of serious academics of Ferelden history. After all, not only was the her predecessor executed by Mara herself, Queen Mara was married to her husband for nearly a decade prior to her death, with absolutely no sources so much as hinting to infidelity, let alone attraction to other women. Let it be known that this text completely condemns such sensationalized pop histories as Hallister’s _The Love of Queens_ and O’Malley’s _By Blood and Steel._

      With that out of the way, we may proceed with what we know to be actual fact…

            - _excerpts from the introduction of Professor Lenea Mac Eiger’s history of the early Dragon Age in Ferelden,_ The Legacy of the Warden Queen _, published 13:25 Silver_

\--

A:

Are you going to be at Lady Gemma’s dinner party? Mother is thinking of going, and bringing the anklebiter. Save me from another evening with my family.

-M

 

M:

Of course I’ll be going. As though I have any choice. I’ll be there to save you, don’t worry. Although I might have to split my time between you and rescuing Cailan from situations.

-A

 

A:

You and Cailan _both_ get into ‘situations’, don’t act as though you’re completely innocent. I see right through your big blue eyes. I know the deviousness that lurks there. I love it. Same time, same place?

-M

 

M:

The closet near the kitchen, after all the real adults have drunk too much to notice us and Cailan has found some antique weapons to play with. Can’t wait to see you.

-A

A:

XOXOXOXO

-M

            - _several scraps of parchment paper circa 9:19 Dragon, some marked with perfume, burned to cinders by 9:31, along with a number of other letters, sketches and missives written in the same two hands_

\--

            Honestly, Penelope, I don’t know what to do with her. I suppose it’s too much to hope that it’s just normal teenage woes? She should know better, at her age. For Andraste’s sake, she’s nearly twenty, dramatic as she can be. I’d expect this behavior out of her sister, but Mara? She’s always been so composed. I’m worried. I was always able to get through to her the way her father couldn’t, but now she’s shutting me out, too. Quite literally—her door’s locked and barred.

            I have an idea of what’s causing it. The other day I heard her fight with her friend, the Mac Tir girl who is marrying Cailan. I heard them arguing from two hallways away. I thought I even heard something smash, and both of them crying. I’ve no idea what they’re fighting about, but you know how girls are—they can quarrel with each other over anything. Perhaps a borrowed necklace, or more likely, a boy. Mara’s never mentioned her opinion of young Cailan before, but he is quite a handsome young man, and he _is_ the king. It isn’t inconceivable for my high-reaching little girl (who, you’re right to be thinking, is not so little anymore) to have developed a crush on him. Jealousy is unfortunately common among girls her age.

            Well, perhaps they can make it up at the royal wedding. There will be plenty opportunities for congratulation and emotional maturity then, assuming I can get her to unlock her door and come out of her room. She’s been in there for three days! Bryce has been leaving her meals. They keep getting eaten, but I suspect that’s the dog’s work…

            But enough about my problems. Are you thinking of visiting soon? We could go into the city and look for something nice to get the newlyweds together. If not, I’ll see you at the wedding.

            - _excerpt from a letter by Teyrna Eleanor Cousland to her cousin, Penelope Mac Eanraig  9:24 Dragon_

_\--_

            Your Majesty,

            Expect my arrival with the new Warden-Recruit within the fortnight. She is the daughter of Teyrn Bryce Cousland, skilled in the arts of courtly persuasion and the craft of war. She seems a promising recruit.

            ~~The only thing that troubles me is her mental state. She has not spoken a single word, nor given a single gesture of acknowledgement, for the weeks we’ve been travelling. The grim and silent woman I am escorting now resembles the one I met at Castle Highever, who laughed and tossed her braids and spoke graciously at length on any subject, not at all. She eats and drinks but barely. She does nothing but stare blankly ahead and~~   She is a phenomenal swordswoman, one of the best I’ve ever seen, surely one of the best in her generation.

            ~~As assured as I am in her prowess, I am unnerved by her. The circumstances under which I recruited her were dire. I believe she wished to die beside her family, is only now living out of sheer spite. I have not seen such fury in eyes that young since~~ The Wardens will be lucky to have her.

                                                                                                Yours faithfully,

                                                                                    Warden-Commander Duncan

            _-a letter, written and rewritten, to the late King Cailan, in early 9:30 Dragon_

\--

            You have to understand that I met her after it had happened. She had been a completely different person then, but I only found that out later, through great effort, as nearly everyone who might have known her then is now dead. Prior to that, I only had half the story.

Understand, also, that we were not close. She had little patience for my youthful softness, and did away with it as the opportunity presented itself. Perhaps you have her to thank, for my efficacy as a Left Hand. She was certainly no Andrastian, though she paid lip service to the Chantry when it suited her. I had hoped to change her, open her heart, and instead she planted the seeds of doubt in me.

            The Warden I met was stone incarnate. Her head shaved, her cheekbones harsh and skeletal, her eyes like onyx. She was beautiful, but the way a mountain is beautiful, the way an oncoming storm is beautiful. I never saw her give a smile that was not calculated. Yes, she was pitiless, even penniless and hunted and nearly alone, which I attributed merely to her dedication to stopping the Blight. Later, I supposed that the harshness was simply a part of her nature, the way sharpness and hardness is the nature of a diamond. It seemed so deeply ingrained in her very soul that I could not imagine her as anything else.

            Imagine my surprise when I learned, years later, of the second Cousland child as discussed in the correspondences of her childhood friends and family. I could certainly not conjure in my mind the image of Mara Cousland, of all people, with long hair twisted into a hundred braids, adorning herself with pearls and golden combs. Mara Cousland, purchasing embroidered slippers at the market with other noblewomen. Mara Cousland, dancing and laughing openly at social functions. I had not even known that she _had_ a sister, let alone one with whom she’d argued and play-fought and held tea parties with. This was a Mara Cousland I could have loved as a dear friend, a Mara Cousland as human as any of us.

            I suspect now that that woman died along with her family at Highever. The Warden I met held no relation to the one I read of years later in the yellowed letters recovered from her family’s old estate.

           Regardless, I believe it was for the best. Without that woman’s ruthlessness, the Blight might never have been ended as quickly or efficiently as it ultimately was.

            - _Sister Nightingale’s report to Cassandra Pentaghast regarding the Hero of Ferelden, circa 9:39 Dragon_

\--

            Hear this, loyal citizens of Orzammar! Lord Harrowmont lies dead in his bed, poisoned through the ear canal in the night! Agents of wicked Prince Bhelen, pretender to the throne of Orzammar, are assuredly guilty of the crime!! Citizens, we must arrest this vile murderer of a good and decent man!!!

            - _spoken by Durik Kralver an Orzammar town crier in the Diamond Quarter, as recorded by the Shaperate  
_

            Loyal Citizens of Orzammar! Prince Bhelen lies dead in his sitting room, stabbed through the heart by an unknown assailant! Though which of the upstart Lord Harrowmont’s has done the deed is unknown, the guilt of the perpetrator is obvious!!

            - _spoken by Glatrand Melmas, another Orzammar town crier in the Diamond Quarter, as recorded in the Shaperate  
_

Do not listen to Bhelen’s lying dog of a crier, who speaks falsehoods for the traitor prince even from beyond the murderer’s grave! Harrowmont is the true victim, who had nothing to do with the oppositions murder!

            - _spoken by Durik Klarver in the Diamond Quarter, as recorded in the Shaperate  
_

            If I am a lying dog, the other town crier is a rotting pile of excrement.

            - _spoken by Glatrand Melmas in the Diamond Quarter, as recorded in the Shaperate  
_

 

If I am a rotting pile of excrement, the other town crier should come over here and meet me in the Proving Pits.

            - _spoken by Durik Klarver in the Diamond Quarter, as recorded in the Shaperate  
_

\--

            Citizens of Orzammar!

            In these dire times, it is vital that we come together peacefully. Prince Bhelen and Lord Harrowmont are dead. It is yet unknown who, but we can all agree that tensions were high, that there was much infighting. Already, chaos has broken out in the streets, and it is only thanks to the Grey Warden that the violence was even temporarily ended.

            This is not the time to fight amongst ourselves. Without any candidate at all, we find ourselves adrift in crisis. The Grey Warden has come to our fair city to ask us to honor an age-old treaty. If we do not honor it, we have no honor as dwarves at all.

            The Grey Warden has appointed me acting martial commander for the duration of this Blight. Do not grumble, citizens! It is surely true that should the surface fall to darkspawn, the supply lines on which Orzammar depends will not last long. The Grey Warden assures me that this is so.

            Soon, we march.

            - _public statement by acting martial commander Niven Ghemold, as recorded by the Shaperate_

_\--_

I think…it is foolish to blame myself, and yet, I still do. Not for Kinloch, but for much of what came after.

            Perhaps it is an old woman’s fancy, having given up my own child, to view every person under thirty as a surrogate. But I have been a Senior Enchanter for a long time, and I cannot help but desire to reach out to young people, to guide them, to help them along their way.

            I felt particularly responsible for the young Grey Warden who I accompanied in the latter part of the year, though she did not appreciate my efforts of outreach. I did not expect her to, though I did hope. She kept me with her, because, I believe, she thought me useful. But Mara only ever kept her own counsel.

            This, I think, was ultimately what exacerbated the situation at Kinloch, and what eventually caused the tragedy at Redcliffe. Trapped by the demon of Sloth, it took myself, Alistair and Morrigan long enough to break out of our nightmares ourselves, but even then, our Warden was nowhere to be found. When we eventually located her, her scrap of Fade was a bloody massacre, a pile of bodies and severed limbs, human men with noble insignias and ugly, twisted faces, attacking her in waves and waves. Her blades were bathed in their blood, and so was she, her beautiful young face a twisted horror. I imagine she would have gone on killing these phantoms forever, locked in perpetual terror and hatred, had we not convinced her of their falsehood, nearly being killed ourselves in the attempt.

           We languished so long in the demon’s demesne that by the time we rescued her from her nightmare, defeated the demon, and returned to our bodies, we found ourselves near death from thirst. And by then, of course, the situation with Uldred had deteriorated to the point of no return.

            I doubt Kinloch Hold will ever hold a Circle, now. It is far too stained with horrors, old and new. Even if the Veil there should return to its state prior to the Blight, I do not recommend returning there. Ever. For anyone.

            _-excerpt from a report by Senior Enchanter Wynne of Kinloch Hold on Uldred’s Rebellion_

\--

            Citizens of Redcliffe, I know that times are turbulent. We have only just survived the undead horde, only just accepted the death of Connor, before this new tragedy. The death of my brother, Arl Eamon, has shaken me—has shaken all of us. Who could have imagined that our noble ruler could have survived poison, demonic influence, blood magic and more, only to finally be taken by a traitorous knife through the heart? To think that the Grey Warden, beloved daughter of Bryce Cousland, had intended the very next morning to set out questing for the Sacred Ashes which might have cured him…

            Though it pains my heart to say that Eamon will never now wake, I ask you to steel your hearts, citizens, and know that the wicked blood mage responsible now lies dead. His head is even now speared on a pike, his body food for the carrion. Rest easy this night, knowing that yet another maleficar has been put to death.

            Rest easy this night, but tomorrow morning, prepare for battle. The darkspawn come, and we must march and be ready. The duty falls to me--I shall lead us, with Warden Cousland, who comes from long stock of noble rulers and great warriors, beside me. Together, we will beat back this horde.

            May you all fight bravely in the coming battle.

            - _speech by Arl Teagan to the townspeople of Redcliffe, following the death of his brother_     

\--

            The worst part was that I really thought she loved me.

            You must think me so stupid. Ask anyone, they could have told you right away how she was. The only living thing she ever loved was that dog. But I never wanted to hear it. She was kind to me. Listened to me. Didn’t cringe at my jokes—not visibly, anyway. She brought me little tokens and gifts, things she’d found or bought and thought I might like. I thought it was because she cared about me. After all, I only told her about my birthright months into our acquaintance.

            But of course the daughter of one of the last Teyrnas in Ferelden knew who I was well in advance. She probably knew about my birthright before I ever did. To think she had the audacity to look betrayed, when I did finally tell her. To act as though I was the one who’d hurt her, when she’d known about it all along. When it was all she’d wanted from me.

            It helped that she was so beautiful. I was twenty and hadn’t much talked to any women before. She was beautiful, she said the right things, and she was commanding. That, I think, was what I loved her the most for. That she commanded me. That she made all the difficult decisions, so that I wouldn’t have to. That she was there, so that I wouldn’t have to be alone. Even if her decisions were evil, even if they hurt people…she could always convince me that really, it was right. That she’d done the right thing. That I was just too stupid to see that she was right.

            I always believed her. Did everything she said, without compunction. Followed her around like a mabari, except not as smart.

            It makes me sick, remembering it.

            But not as sick as I feel remembering the times we were together. Evenings by the campfire, days on the road, nights in her tent. She took my rose, my first kiss…my first time in bed. Maker, I was barely more than a child. I thought she was cold to me, during intimate moments, because I’d done something wrong. Because I wasn’t good enough. It only made me work harder to please her, but nothing ever truly would.

            And here I am, the rightful King of Ferelden, and I’m still following her around like a lapdog. And what choice do I have? She’s my wife. The people believe us to be madly, passionately in love. A politician is slave to public opinion. And besides…I don’t know that I can function without her, anymore.

            She never loved me, she used me, she crippled me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. She’s all I know.

            _-excerpt from the correspondence of King Alistair Theirin and his elven lover, dated 9:35 Dragon_

\--

            Peace, my guests.

            We thank you all from the bottom of our hearts for attending this most joyous occasion. Looking at my husband now, my heart fills with joy, thinking of the things we might accomplish for our beloved Ferelden, together.

            We have come through darkness and through tribulations to arrive here. The Blight, the civil war, the execution of the traitor Loghain Mac Tir. And our work is not yet done.

             Tomorrow, we must regrettably execute the traitor Anora Mac Tir, who swore allegiance to us upon our rescue of her from the hands of the vile traitor Howe, and then betrayed us for her traitorous father. This, we cannot accept. The royal pardons extends heavily and graciously, but know this, loyal citizens—treason, even the barest hint of treason, cannot be stood for. If there are any seeking to rebel, any seeking to challenge the rightful rule of our guiding hand, any seeking to cause undue suffering to the population with their thoughtless acts of childish revolt—heed my gentle words of warning. Treason of any kind will _not_ be tolerated.

Ferelden will face difficult times as we recover from the Blight. To ensure the safety and progress of all of her people, our hand will have to be kind, but firm.

            But think not now of these dark times. Tonight, we feast, and we are merry. Tomorrow, our work continues.

            - _wedding and coronation speech by Queen Mara Cousland-Theirin_ , _near the end of 9:30 Dragon, shortly in the wake of putting down a series of riots and protests_

\--

            Mara.

            I’m writing this to you because I know you won’t listen to me in person. You’re lashing out, because you’ve been hurt. Not just by Howe, but by me, too. Is that why you're doing this? To punish me?

            I love you. I do. I have loved you since we were children, loved you even as I was obligated to marry another, love you even now, even as you do this thing to me. Love makes helpless fools of us all. Even now, if you came to me in this dungeon, and opened the door, I would fling myself into your arms and be only glad to be reunited with you. I may be losing my mind. I don't care.

              I never betrayed you. I was only trying to protect what I loved. That included my father, but it includes you, too. It’s not too late. Please. Change your mind.

              Remember how we used to pass notes?

              - _a letter, burnt unread_

\--

              The Warden-Commander? Yeah, she was a real piece of work, I can tell you that. It makes me angry just to think of her.

              It seemed at first that she had progressive thoughts on the rights of mages, but now I recognize that she just thought of us as useful. Why bother locking up people who might serve you? Sure, she was forward-thinking, alright—as long as it served her interests. I hear she employs blood mages to assassinate undesirables for her now. Sounds like a ridiculous rumor, doesn’t it? But I’d believe it.

              What I remember best about her is a single image, more than anything else. Her face, angular and expressionless, illuminated by the flames. Watching Amaranthine burn. _Letting_ it burn. Ostensibly to save Vigil’s Keep, but at what cost? If you ask me, she wanted it to burn. Wanted to spite the ancestral home of the Howes. It wasn’t enough just to rule it—no, she had to burn it to the ground. Like the thief in the keep, before I’d even taken the Joining. He was a Howe. The execution was one thing, but the way it was carried out…the satisfaction on her face, watching it carried out…makes me shudder to even think of it,  if I’m honest.

              You know, but as far as Amaranthine goes, I’m pretty sure she was just looking for an excuse. Oh, darkspawn overrunning the place? Better burn it down! Oops, infestation of locusts? A little fire will solve that. Walls looking a little musty? Burn it down, start over.

              I hated that bloody woman. _She was unjust._

              Especially since she returned to glue her bony ass back to the throne shortly after that incident, leaving me to the mercy of the Templars.

              I suppose I do have her to thank for meeting Justice. That’s the _only_ thing I’ll thank her for. If only because when I’m done here, when the mages are free, I swear we’re going to correct the injustices she wrought. It’s only right.

            - _from the extensive notes of_ _Varric Tethras, following a conversation with renegade mage Anders_

\--

            Master Ignacio. Antivan Crow contact. Carries out nothing himself—too important—but is a needful go-between. Paid in full: 5000 gold crowns. Eliminated: Eliane Bryland, Thomas Howe, Frederick Howe, Magdalen Howe, Kathra and Olivia Howe. Business concluded, sum paid in full.

            Parvati Meleager. Blood mage. Former resident of Kinloch Hold, now employed by the Crown, under full legal protection. Stipend of 50 silver a month, plus accommodations located in the Hinterlands. Eliminated: Delilah, Albert and Marcus Howe. Standing orders: remain in hiding, separate from the others. She is indebted to the Crown, and are invaluable resources—do not use unless necessary.

            Theuderic Eirjenborgensen. Anderfels native. Member of the Ubermacht League. Known for subtlety of operation. Standing orders: seek out and eliminate remaining loose ends. Leave none alive. Any price is acceptable.

            - _partial dossier of assassins employed by the Ferelden Crown 9:31-9:40 Dragon  
_

\--

              I swear, Mildred, I heard her!

              Oh, no, she didn’t see _me_ of course. The fact that my head is still attached to my shoulders is proof enough of that. I was just walking past the royal quarters with the linens when I heard glass smash, and angry words. Can you imagine, the Queen behaving in such a way, yelling at air? Everyone knows the Queen sleeps alone, and she ain’t got any friends. Anyone what was close to her is dead or driven off now.

              What was she saying? Oh, terrible things. 'You shouldn’t have betrayed me,' and 'I never wanted this,' but I’d swear on my old mum’s grave that nobody was there. And the words was slurred! Can you imagine, the Queen drinking alone like any old sot?

              Anyway, the next morning, young Hanna’s called in to clean, and there’s shards of glass all over the floor, and she tells me that all the mirrors in the room were smashed, from the big vanity to all the little hand mirrors. Poor Hanna nearly sliced her feet open! And when she asked about replacing the mirrors, the Queen just grunted and slammed the door behind her. Scared poor Hanna half to death!

              Just goes to show, I say, ain’t nobody in the Maker’s light whats perfect, ‘cept blessed Andraste herself, of course.

              - _a conversation overheard between a stable girl and a scullery maid_

\--

              Nora.

              You’re dead. You’ve been dead for years. You will never read this. You will never look at me, with your bright blue eyes, that hide such deviousness. You will never do or be anything again. You are ashes.

              So why I am I writing to you, you who are ashes?

              Yes, I love you. I still love you. I have never loved anyone else, have never wanted anyone else. I watched you die, at my order, and I loved you then, and I love you now.

              Are you happy now? That I’ve admitted it? Are you satisfied? Are you grinning, with your skeletal teeth, knowing that I’ve had no peace?

              You could have just done what I’d said. We could have been together. I would not have minded, being merely your trusted advisor. I would not have insisted on the crown. I would have been content at your side, would have put aside my ambitions, if I’d thought I could have had you instead.

              If you could have just been someone I could have trusted…

              But you showed me that there was nobody I could trust. Not even the one I loved.

              You turned on me. Why did you turn on me? Anora, why? Why couldn’t I trust you? You proved to me that I had been right not to trust. That I had been right all along, about everyone. That there is no safety, no peace. That there can never be.

              That’s why you had to die. It’s only fair. It’s only right. An eye for an eye. There are no more Couslands, so there are no more Howes.  You broke me, so I broke you back. It’s only fair.

              Yes, I regret it.

- _a letter in an unsteady hand, burnt to cinders_

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://wombuttress.tumblr.com/)   
>  [my oc blog. more mara here.](http://pile-of-dragon-filth.tumblr.com/tagged/mara%20cousland)


End file.
